by Linn Schwab
Prying the panel loose proved to be easy. Beneath it she found a very basic junction box with terminals already soldered in place. She fastened one end of her cable to the terminals, then searched around the room for an outlet to plug into. Upon finding an outlet, she unwound the cable, only to realize it didn’t have a plug. “Ugh!” she muttered and slapped her forehead, cursing herself for overlooking such a detail.
After considering her options for a moment, she decided to forgo a trip back to the supply room, and just wire her cable directly to the outlet. But doing so meant shutting off power to the outlet, which also meant tracking down the room’s breaker box. Just a slight delay, she told herself as she reached for her trusty archive interface. Her schematics showed the breaker box was nearby, in an alcove adjacent to the maintenance lift. Moments later, she was standing in front of the box, reading the labels on each of the breakers. A quick flip of a switch and the job was done. All the outlets in the room were now switched off.
As Genevieve turned to leave the alcove, she caught sight of a faded chart on the wall. To her surprise, it proved to be an old diagram left behind by the workers who’d built the station. Even better, the chart was specific to the map room, and described its layout in great detail. The room itself was labeled “Observation Lounge,” and according to the specifications on the chart, the map device was nothing but reinforced glass surrounded by a circular illuminated frame.
“This can’t be right,” she mumbled to herself. The device was far more complex than that. Either the original specifications were wrong, or the window had somehow been altered over time, resulting in far more advanced functionality. That must be what happened, she reasoned. The very structure of the window itself has been altered. And when she asked herself who could have done such a thing, the answer was immediately obvious to her.
The virus!
Those glowing particles. Not only were they being drawn to the lens, they were somehow embedding themselves in the glass, and altering its molecular composition in the process. To what end, though? She still couldn’t say. Perhaps her experiment would give her greater insight.
Minutes later she was ready to proceed with her experiment. Her cable stretched across the map room floor, connecting the outlet to the lens device by way of the attenuator switch she’d wired in. Power to the outlet had been restored. It was now just a matter of increasing the voltage.
After taking a deep breath, Genevieve crouched down and turned the attenuator switch to the right. Just a small increase to observe the results. The frame around the lens gave off a brief flicker, but otherwise she noticed no visible changes. With her scanner in hand, she moved out onto the lens and stopped near its center to take another reading. The scanner detected no power fluctuations. Its analysis appeared to remain unchanged.
“Show the source of bioluminescence,” she said. The screen lit up again, just as before, suggesting the lens itself was the source. But this time when she raised it away from the lens, the scanner revealed a dramatic change. Rather than drifting at a leisurely pace, the particles were now racing toward the lens like a raging torrent in a storm swollen river. The spectacle was positively breathtaking to observe, with streams of light flowing in from all directions, to merge with the glowing pool beneath her feet. Looking up from the scanner, she now realized her eyes could detect a faint glow in the room — a direct result of the increased activity. And in fact, even she was surrounded by an aura, which suggested the virus was leaving her body.
On a whim, she pointed the scanner at her arm, and gasped when she realized what was happening to her. The virus was rapidly being drained from her, not only through her breath, but also through her skin. For a few brief seconds, she watched in fascination before it dawned on her that this might not be a good thing.
Deciding to flee, she spun toward the exit. Her surroundings suddenly appeared blurry and distorted. The lens seemed to stretch out for miles in each direction. Feeling dizzy and weakened, she reached out toward the doorway, hoping desperately to pull herself to safety. With great effort, she managed to lift her right foot, but before she could place it down again, her senses told her she was falling ... falling.
* * * *
There was no escape for Robin this time. Commander Eldridge had determined she was strong enough now to help with some light cleanup duty in the gun bays. Sheri was also put to work, though exempted from performing any strenuous tasks. So while the other girls worked on heavier chores, Robin and Sheri kept themselves busy pushing dust mops across the expanse of floor. Following a winding route through each of the gun bays, the two of them walked along side by side, clearing a path through fragments and debris left behind as part of the reassembly efforts. Methodically, they weaved through the individual gun bays, and the circular gallery that joined them all together. On each circuit, they passed by a staging area where the empty gun crates had been hastily stashed in an effort to get them out of the way.
Designed to hurl twenty–inch shells from their barrels, the dimensions of these massive artillery pieces were simply staggering to behold. Almost equally impressive were the crates they’d been packed in, fashioned from enormous wooden planks, the likes of which Robin had never seen before. Each time she walked by them, she tried to imagine the size of the trees these planks must have come from. Everything about them seemed larger than life — even the knotholes and sturdy wood grain. After passing by the pile of empty crates several times, her eyes finally focused on a group of painted markings that seemed to be present on each one of them. Curious, she paused to take a closer look. They appeared to be a set of coordinates.
“Is something wrong?” Commander Eldridge asked, appearing unexpectedly at Robin’s side. “You suddenly seem very distracted by something.”
Robin pointed at the markings painted on the crates. “What are those numbers for?” she asked.
“Shipping coordinates,” the commander explained. “When something is requisitioned for a specific facility, its coordinates are always stamped on the container. For example, when those guns were sent here to Volaris, these cases were marked with the station’s coordinates.”
Robin looked at the markings again. Based on the commander’s explanation, the numbers didn’t make sense to her. “Those aren’t our coordinates,” she insisted.
The commander hesitated for a second. “Well, don’t forget,” she said, “that collision pushed us out of position, so our current coordinates are somewhat off.”
Robin slowly shook her head. The numbers still didn’t fit the explanation. “Those weren’t our coordinates before, either.”
Commander Eldridge looked at her as if trying to decide what to make of her assessment. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Positive. Those coordinates are further away from Valhalla.”
The commander looked around for the nearest intercom panel, and found one just a few paces away. “Lieutenant Marlowe,” she said after walking briskly to the intercom.
“Yes, Commander,” Veronica answered.
“Lieutenant, I want you to check some coordinates for me. I’m keying them into this panel right now.”
“I have them,” Veronica reported seconds later. “It appears to be an area adjacent to Pangea, approximately half way between Volaris and Orion.”
“Are there any Sentinel facilities there?”
“No, Commander,” the lieutenant said. “Not unless my sensors are programmed not to see them.”
Robin thought she heard some bitterness in Veronica’s voice, and wondered what had caused her to make such a retort. But rather than reacting to the comment with outrage, the commander appeared to be contemplating something.
“Lieutenant,” Commander Eldridge said, “do we currently have any ships in that vicinity?”
“Negative. Scans show no ships between here and Orion.”
After pausing to consider her options, the commander briefly looked down at Robin, then yelled out an order at the top of her lungs. “ECHO
5, front and center!”
Within seconds, Robins squad had raced to her side, and were standing at attention in their usual formation.
“Captain Starling,” Commander Eldridge said, “I want you to take a ship and fly out to those coordinates. Notify the control room as soon as you’ve arrived there. And make sure you remain outside the debris field.”
“Yes, Commander,” Robin replied, then immediately led her squad toward the spur.
* * * *
Only a dozen or so people had gathered on the flight deck to wish Karl luck on his final endeavor. Though Commander Ingman was somewhat disappointed by the turnout, he realized that to someone in Karl’s position, it must’ve seemed very much like a hero’s send–off. While a celebrated pilot might have drawn a larger crowd, for someone who’d spent most of his life mopping floors, it was likely an unexpected surprise that anyone had bothered to turn out at all.
Of those who were present, most of them were officers who’d formed a close friendship with Karl through the years. Jay’s squadron had also shown up to see him off, as well as the crew who had prepped his plane. A somber mood descended on the well–wishers as he went down the line shaking hands with each one of them. They said farewell to him and slapped him on the shoulder, while trying very hard to conceal their emotions.
Commander Ingman was the last to say goodbye, and offer a heartfelt parting handshake. “Take care, old friend.”
Karl gave a silent nod, then proceeded to climb up into his cockpit. The small crowd stepped back as he fired up the engines and taxied his plane toward the starboard airlock. Moments later, they let out a sigh of relief when the lights indicated a successful launch.
With the gathering now beginning to disperse, the technician who’d overseen the work on Karl’s fighter made his way to Commander Ingman’s side.
“Nice work,” the commander complimented him. “Let’s hope it holds together for him.”
“Thank you, sir,” the lieutenant said. “Do you really think he has a chance to make it?”
“No, I don’t,” the commander replied. “As soon as he shows up on their radar, he’s dead. I know it. He knows it. Everyone knows it.”
“Then why go to all this trouble, sir?”
“What did it cost us? To grant his dying wish. A few hours’ work and a useless airframe? I’d like to think we’d all receive as much consideration, should our fates ever place is in a similar situation.”
* * * *
After leaving the safety of the Melbourne behind, Karl headed for a glowing sphere in the distance. His plan was to fly toward the planet’s moon until the asteroid field was far behind him. Though he realized the asteroids might offer him some cover, there were too many eyes watching over that area, with all the combat that had taken place there recently. Better to take his chances elsewhere, he decided. Even if it meant being out in the open. As to how he would deal with the enemy radar, he was gambling on a simple act of deception to help him sneak in close to the planet. For now, though, he was still out of range of their scanners, so he switched his engines into conservation mode, relaxed and settled in for a lengthy journey.
* * * *
Still unsure what she should say to Jason, Virginia had spent the whole morning alone, considering and rehearsing different ways to confront him. It was folly to deny having feelings for him. Even Commander Eldridge had seen right through her. The challenge was not to reveal anything that might make him suspicious something was wrong. And she really didn’t know if she was up to that challenge. The old Virginia would have had little trouble keeping her emotions concealed from him. But that Virginia had been cast aside with great effort, and she really didn’t want to invite her back in, no matter how strong her feelings for Jason might be.
At the heart of her dilemma was the deadly virus which threatened to kill him just because he was male. In order for him to have any chance of living, they would have to allow him to return to his people. But it didn’t sound like Commander Eldridge had that in mind. It would be so much easier, she told herself, if she didn’t have to cover up the fact that he was dying. If she went to him now, he was certain to see the distress in her eyes, and pressure her to tell him what was bothering her.
What happens when he starts feeling sick? she wondered. The truth would come out eventually, and she would have to fess up that she was hiding it from him. The whole situation was an absolute nightmare, fraught with traps and snares that could easily trip her up. There was one person on the station who might be able to help her, but it could mean pushing their friendship to the breaking point, and she was reluctant to take that risk. After careful thought, though, she decided to test the waters, and found herself standing outside Suzanne’s office.
At first it appeared as if the office was empty. But a closer look revealed a mop of brown hair resting peacefully on the surface of the desk.
Virginia cleared her throat and whispered, “Commander?”
There was no response, so she moved in closer and laid her hand on Suzanne’s upper arm. A weary pair of eyes turned upward to greet her.
“Oh,” Suzanne said. “I guess I fell asleep.”
The dark circles under the young officer’s eyes made Virginia feel guilty for disturbing her rest. “You look so tired,” she said to her friend. “What have they been putting you through?”
“Just reading,” Suzanne said. “A lot of reading. More reading than I’ve ever done in my life. Do you have any idea how many technical systems there are in a destroyer?”
“I’m not sure I want to,” Virginia said. “Doesn’t sound like very interesting reading to me.” Suddenly she found herself missing Zoe, and the time they’d shared exploring magical lands through the writings of a wordsmith who’d lived long ago. It took some of the sting out of her current situation, and made her realize she couldn’t impose on Suzanne to circumvent the plans of Commander Eldridge. She valued their relationship far too much to place that kind of burden on her.
“Is there a reason you came to see me?” Suzanne asked.
Virginia nodded and smiled at her. “I just wanted to see if you were alright,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I miss you.”
Suzanne yawned and lowered her head again. “I miss you too, Virginia,” she said. “Is it too late to change my mind about this?”
* * * *
Taking a break from a long list of daily reports, Admiral Sands strolled onto the bridge of his flagship to stretch his legs and check up on his fleet. “Any enemy activity to report?” he asked.
“No, sir,” the Alabama’s captain reported. “Everything seems to be quiet right now.”
“That’ll change soon enough,” the admiral said. The whole crew was aware he was planning an offensive. But then again, he was always planning an offensive.
“We’ll get them this time,” the captain said.
“That’s the spirit,” Admiral Sands replied.
“Contact!” the radar operator announced. “Single fighter, closing in on our position.”
“Identification?” Captain Schiffer asked him.
“Look’s like it’s one of ours, sir.”
“Very well,” Captain Schiffer said. “Implement standard recovery procedure. Instruct the pilot to remain at a safe distance, and dispatch a light cruiser to pick him up.”
“Sir,” the radio operator said, “I’m receiving a call from the pilot of that fighter. He’s asking to come aboard the Alabama directly. Says his name is Captain Peter Straydel.”
Captain Schiffer looked at Admiral Sands. The admiral hesitated, then shook his head.
“Deny his request,” the Captain ordered. “Inform him to wait for further instructions.”
The operator relayed Captain Schiffer’s instructions, listened for a response, then turned to Admiral Sands. “He says to inform the admiral that Commander Karen Parks sends her regards.”
All eyes on the bridge now turned to Admiral Sands, waiting expectantly to see his reac
tion.
“Bring him aboard,” the admiral said. “Have him report to my office right away.”
* * * *
After receiving permission to board the Alabama, Peter flew in underneath the battleship’s hull and waited for the cargo bay doors to open. He’d never docked with a ship in this manner before, but it was something he’d heard other pilots discuss. Once the doors were open, he maneuvered upward through the opening, moved forward and set down on the cargo bay deck. He then waited for the doors to close again, and for pressure in the cargo bay to be restored.
When the air pressure finally returned to normal, he climbed out of his fighter and headed for the admiral’s office. This wasn’t his first time aboard the Alabama, but it was his first time without Commander Ingman being present. For what he meant to say now, though, he had no need of Commander Ingman. He intended to go straight to Admiral Sands with his thoughts.
Making his way up through the levels of the battleship, Peter passed through several areas that seemed familiar to him. He followed a path he remembered from his previous visits, and soon found himself in the admiral’s office, standing face to face with the admiral himself.
Admiral Sands greeted him with an empty stare — a look that told Peter he was on shaky ground. Peter stood at attention and offered a salute. As usual, the admiral ignored protocol, but this time he was less than cordial about it.
“Where the hell have you been all this time, Captain Straydel? And what do you know about Commander Parks?”
“I’ve been a guest on Paradise One, Admiral. And I know Commander Parks is a lovely woman.”
“Christ, Peter!” the admiral exclaimed. “That facility is the most closely guarded secret we have! I have half a mind to have you executed on the spot, for possession of knowledge you’re not supposed to have. How the hell did you find out about it?”
“Quite by accident, I assure you,” Peter insisted. “Listen, Admiral,” he continued, “the reason I came here is to tell you that I think there’s someone on the other side who might be willing to cooperate with us.”